Grey
by Stargazer Nataku
Summary: Harvey Dent was the White Knight. Batman is the Dark Knight. Jim Gordon is in between.


_**Grey**_

_**By **_

_**Stargazer Nataku**_

It's after two a.m. when Jim Gordon quietly opens the back door of their apartment and sits down on the wooden stairs, lighting his third cigarette of the night. Barbara doesn't like it when he smokes, tells him it's too large a health risk for only slight, temporary benefits. When she says that, Gordon always wants to ask if she's talking about the cigarettes or his job. He hasn't yet, because he knows the truth. She would apply the same words to both, and that's an argument that he does _not_ want to have, even though he can sense it coming. Jim has to admit though, even if it's only to himself as he sits in the darkness listening closely to the silence in the house inside, that she probably has a point. She's scared, he knows that. Though he never tells her as much, he's just as terrified at the thought of what they almost lost. Of what they still stand to lose.

He takes another slow drag, trying to force his muscles to relax, trying to ignore the images that would give him his own nightmares if he were able to sleep. Barbara's resorted to sleeping pills, but Gordon doesn't have that luxury. So he's sitting alone on the porch in the middle of the night, sleep impossible, smoking, knowing she'll smell the stale odor on his jacket in the morning and frown. She may or may not say anything to go along with the frown, and he's not sure which is worse: silent or voiced disapproval. There's been a lot of both kinds in the house lately. He sighs, smokes some more in silence.

"That's not healthy," a voice rasps practically on top of him and Gordon jerks in surprise, his hand dropping automatically to his belt where his gun should be, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Jesus," he hisses without thinking, his gaze falling on a block of shadows that is almost too dark. "After what happened last week, I'd appreciate it if you not do that for awhile," he tells Batman, and there's silence in response. "You being here isn't exactly healthy either," he comments, finishing the cigarette and mashing it out in the ashtray beside him. "Guess neither of us is being smart tonight." Silence again, and Gordon frowns, fishing out another cigarette from the pack in his pocket. "Why are you here? I figure you didn't come to sit and watch me smoke."

The shadows coalesce into a form as Batman steps forward, a gauntleted fist taking the unlit cigarette from his hand and tossing it into the trash beside the stairs. "I didn't," Batman responds.

"Fair enough." Gordon doesn't reach for another, knowing it would meet the same fate as the first. When Batman doesn't answer his question, Jim looks into the shadowed face and speaks, guessing Batman's purpose. "The kids are doing as well as can be expected. Babs a bit better than Jimmy, but she's not the one…" His voice trails off as images flash through his mind. "He's been up twice tonight already. Nightmares. It's why I'm awake."

"Watch them."

"That's the other reason I'm awake," he comments.

"And yourself."

"I know, I know. I look like hell. Stephens reminds me ten times a day at least." Gordon shakes his head, his hand moving for another cigarette. He stops the motion halfway there and lets his hand fall to his side. "Not that you're probably looking better. I don't like this, you know. I don't like lying."

"It's better this way."

"I know you think that."

"You don't?"

"No." He yearns for something to do with his hands, clasps them on his knees before running them up and down his thighs thoughtfully. "But it's all black and white, isn't it. Or that's what it was. You and Harvey."

"Grey," Batman says. Gordon turns to meet his gaze, somewhat in surprise, studying the eyes behind the cowl. "There were three of us. Black, white and grey. You understand the space between dark and light."

"Yeah?" Gordon asks, though he knows it's true. Did he not tell Harvey he was doing the best he could with what he had to work with?

"As Commissioner, you can be the hero Gotham deserves," Batman says. "And the one Gotham needs." Gordon's quiet for a moment.

"At what cost?" he asks, thinking of his wife's screams, his son's terrified eyes, his daughter's sobs, himself begging and powerless. The best he had to work with. He doesn't need the answering silence to know he's now alone, that the Batman has faded into the darkness again. With a sigh, he takes out a cigarette and lights it, taking a long draw and holding it in before blowing it out in a rush. The silvery white moonlight coming through the clouds briefly illuminates the thin, grey tendrils of smoke before they too dissipate into the darkness.

He doesn't like the imagery.

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Author's note: I think Commissioner Gordon has taken up permanent residence in my head. This isn't necessarily a huge problem, because I like playing with these characters, but dang, these plot bunnies are insistent. Anyway, I love reviews so if you have the time and inclination to let me know what you think that would be fantastic. Kudos, and thanks for reading!


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